


The Bones of You

by Saathi1013



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Identities, Dysfunctional Relationships, Established Relationship, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Canon Compliant, POV Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saathi1013/pseuds/Saathi1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty & Molly, before, during, and after The Great Game.  </p>
<p>Written prior to Season 2's airing (canon compliant for S1 only)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bones of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mad_Maudlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Home Is Where](https://archiveofourown.org/works/127698) by [Mad_Maudlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin). 



> Caoilin_noir continues to be awesome, Beta/Britpicking for me like a champ. I feel ridiculously blessed to have her on my side.

After many years of planning and excruciatingly  _dull_  effort, James Moriarty now has a very fine network of thugs, criminals, murders, and thieves at his disposal. Which is nice, but it's not very  _stable._  So he also has an inner infrastructure of bribed businessmen, policemen, and low-level politicians; shell companies to grant a delightful sheen of feigned respectability, trusted assassins, shady reporters, and a handful of amoral tech nerds.   
  
It is one of the latter who forwards him a daily report on the habits of one Sherlock Holmes (there are other reports, on other persons of interest, but Sherlock is by far  _the_  Most Interesting of them all). He clicks on a link in the email and winces.  _Augh,_  he thinks,  _kittens._  It reminds him of the girl who'd lived down the street when he was eight. She'd never found out what had happened to her favourite pet...   
  
Moriarty waves off nostalgic pride for his younger self and keeps reading until it dawns on him. It's like a backstage pass with gilt engraving.  _Dear Jim,_ it practically shouts at him,  _You are cordially invited to begin the Game in earnest._  He giggles to himself and picks up his phone, calling one of his contacts. “I need a job,” he says, with no preamble. And  _of course,_  he gets it.   
  
_How pleasant to have a well-oiled machine at one's fingertips,_  he thinks.  _It's almost unfair of me to pit it against a single man._   
  
But then, he never did play fair.   
  
  
_Carve up my heart on a very low flame /Separate my feelings then pour them down the drain  
Close my eyes and sweeten me with lies / Pierce my skin with a few well chosen words..._   
– 'Autumngirlsoup,' by Kirsty MacColl   
  
  
Oh, how he  _hates_  Glee. Moriarty makes a deal with himself: for every minute of this insipid little show that he watches, he gets another minute to _'encourage'_ Molly to redeem herself, once his Game is over and won.   
  
All right, so he's  _impatient._  But one day, he finds himself humming 'Maybe This Time' while messaging one of his agents in the Tunisian Republic, and he can't  _stand_  it anymore. He severs the connection and heads over to Molly's, barely remembering to change into his 'Jim from IT' costume before he goes.   
  
He doesn't know what comes over him. All he sees is Molly's face, emotions flickering behind those wide, transparent features of hers.   
  
Delight (at his unexpected visit)    
  
bleeds into startlement (as he backs her into her apartment, crowding her against the wall)    
  
shifts to a delicious high note of fear (when he takes her wrists and pins them at her sides)    
  
and she says “Jim, what are-?”   
  
Something twists in his gut, hard and sharp, at her breath on his face. He remembers the plan, the Game, and  _dammit,_  he can't ruin it all now.   
  
“I don't know,” he says, smiling at her in false reassurance, keeping the edges of his teeth hidden. “I just thought... I wanted to see you, and...”   
  
She relaxes infinitesimally , a nervous smile making the corners of her thin little mouth dart up. “All- all right,” she says. “I just. We've never-”   
  
“Come on, Kitten” he says, leaning in to murmur against her ear. “It'll be  _fun._  Don't you trust me?”   
  
She gives a shaky little nod, and that's all he needs.   
  
  
_My boy builds coffins he makes them all day / But it's not just for work and it isn't for play  
He's made one for himself / One for me too / One of these days he'll make one for you..._   
\- 'My Boy Builds Coffins,' by Florence + the Machine   
  
  
Moriarty has a list of assets on his hard drive. One section is for personnel, their skills and assets and weaknesses carefully tabulated, regularly updated. It's an easy calculation to make, when one tips over from 'asset' to 'liability.' A simple phone call to his girl Moran when he needs one removed from the roster.   
  
“The Chinese affair has been handled,” she informs him not ten seconds after he's finished typing. “Anything else tonight, sir?”   
  
“No, Sylvia, that'll be all, thank you,” he says. “Take the rest of the night off.”   
  
Sometimes he wonders why Molly doesn't tip the scale, with all he has to put up with and only one real use for her, and that purpose solely for vanity's sake besides.   
  
  
_What I wanted most, what I wanted most, what I wanted most / Was to get myself all figured out  
And what I figured out, what I figured out, what I figured out / Was that I needed more time to figure you out..._   
\- 'Fix You Up,' by Tegan and Sara   
  
  
“Jim,” Molly says on his answerphone, her tone high and anxious. “It's Molly. Um. Whatever I did, I'm sorry. I just. Some-someone told me. Sherlock said you gave him his  _number,_  and. It's all right if you.” She huffs a small, broken laugh. “I don't  _blame_  you if you fancy him, but. I just want to  _talk_  to you, Jim. Please. Call me back.”   
  
He really should have Sylvia tidy up that mess. His finger hovers over the speed dial.   
  
_Well,_  he thinks.  _It might be suspicious if she disappears too soon._   
  
  
_I've been away for so long. / I've lost my taste for home, and that's a dirty fallow feeling.  
To be the dangling ceiling. / From the roof came crashing down..._   
\- 'The Next Time You Say Forever,' by Neko Case   
  
  
Chlorine and ash on his tongue and Moriarty can't hear a thing. There are flashing lights approaching and he crawls away, pulling himself upright on a pile of rubble.    
  
He can't  _think._  What? Why-? Hidden in an alley alcove several blocks away, he assesses the damage. A large lump is surfacing under the skin over his left ear. He hasn't any identification on him, no wallet, no money, no cards.  _Where is my mobile?_  Burned and buried, perhaps beside the bodies of his enemies. No way of knowing. And the nearest safehouse is. Somewhere. He doesn't quite know where he  _is._   
  
Away. He needs to get away. His mind reels with unaccustomed defeat.  _Not unaccustomed,_  he corrects himself,  _inconceivable. That shouldn't have happened._  An echo in the back of his mind says  _'I don't think that word means what you think it means.'_  A line from some stupid film Molly had made him watch. She'd been aghast that he'd never seen it before.   
  
He lets his feet take the lead.  _Where am I going?_  he thinks,  _and why am I in this handbasket?_   
  
People turn to stare at him as he staggers and reels, giggling at his own jest.   
  
  
_Come on in / I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in  
I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones / That I started looking for a warning sign..._   
\- 'Warning Sign,' by Coldplay   
  
  
“Hey kitten,” he says, and collapses into Molly's arms. She pulls him inside and he's safe. For just a moment, he feels  _safe._   
  
It's a lie. It has to be. He's more exposed here than in the rubble. They'll put the pieces together and come for him. It's only a matter of time. He shouldn't be here, and yet.   
  
Her hands are cool and competent, the smell of her comforting and familiar. He feels  _safe._   
  
  
_With soft tugs and a seam ripper / Tough love and tape measure  
Stitching up boys is different that way / You fix a bird, you buy a cage  
You fix a man and / You fix a man and / And he flies away_   
\- 'Seamstress,' by Dessa   
  
  
Molly cleans him up, tends his wounds, gives him paracetamol and clothes he never thought he'd see again. When she's done, she kisses him and asks him to stay. Jim kisses her back. He  _touches her hair._   
  
There is something crawling under his skin that stills beneath her worried gaze. He stares at her, feeling rattled to the core, nothing to do with the explosion. Then he laughs, at her unshakeable belief in him, at his reaction, at  _everything._  It's absurd.   
  
“Two hours,” he agrees. “Wake me in two hours.” She takes him to her bed and curls up beside him beneath the duvet. Her cat tucks itself into a ball at their feet.   
  
The curve of her hip fills his palm, sweet and soft and alive. “Two hours,” he reminds her, exhaustion dragging him down and down.   
  
“Two hours,” she confirms.   
  
“Night, Kitten,” he mumbles.  _Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning._   
  
He realizes it's a lie just before sleep claims him.   


  
\- END -   


  
_Do I have / time? A man of my calibre / Stood in the street like a sleepwalking teenager  
No. / And I dealt with this years ago / I took a hammer to every memento  
But image on image like beads on a rosary / Pulled through my head as the music takes hold  
And the sickener hits; I can work till I break / But I love the bones of you  
That, I will never escape..._   
\- 'The Bones of You,' by Elbow 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, those are _Glee_ and _Princess Bride_ references. #noregrets
> 
> IF you are curious about the music, I have a reference post here, with youtube links and full lyrics. :)


End file.
